


The Birds

by Reis_Asher



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Birds, During Canon, Flashbacks, Friendship/Love, Hallucinations, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missing Scene, Panic Attacks, Phobias, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Slash, Psychological Horror, The Nest Chapter (Detroit: Become Human), Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:01:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26730310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reis_Asher/pseuds/Reis_Asher
Summary: During The Nest, Hank encounters pigeons in Rupert's loft, which trigger flashbacks of the worst day of his life - the day Cole died. Luckily, Connor is on hand to support Hank, and is the first person to offer help instead of turning his back on Hank and his mental illness.
Relationships: Hank Anderson & Connor, Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	The Birds

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Hank encounters a PTSD trigger (in his case, pigeons) and suffers a panic attack along with visual hallucinations. There's also some description of the accident that took Cole's life, and a (past) animal death. There's some blood and mild psychological horror.

Hank pushed into the main room of the abandoned loft, the stench of bird shit hitting his nostrils before he even saw the flutter of wings. He panicked at the mass of feathers in the small room, batting them away with his hands, half-expecting them to peck at his flesh and tear the meat from his bones.

He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. He hadn't encountered pigeons in a long time, especially not in an enclosed space like this. They were everywhere, their beady little eyes fixed on him in judgment, imposing the death penalty on him for crimes against their kind.

"What the fuck is this? Jesus, this place stinks." Hank knew had to get out of the room soon, but he didn't want to look weak in front of the machine that had been sent to take his job. "Uh, looks like we came for nothin', our man's gone…"

Of course Connor insisted on looking around. Hank wanted nothing more than to retreat, but Connor was fastidious when it came to investigations. CyberLife had designed him well when it came to that, it seemed. He wouldn't leave this loft until every piece of potential evidence had been scanned and analyzed.

Which left Hank with his memories, triggered by the scent of pigeons. The flashbacks came hard and fast, delivering him back to a moment he'd seen a million times in his nightmares.

_"Dad!"_ Cole chased the pigeon across the park. Its little head bobbed as it struggled to keep ahead of the boy, flapping its wings every time it needed a little boost of speed. _"I'm going to catch it!"_

_"Leave it alone, Cole,"_ Hank warned. _"They're like rats with wings. Filthy vermin."_ He'd never been a fan of birds, but pigeons were a special blight. They seemed to infest the park, shitting on the playground equipment and benches. People had taken to feeding them, and their numbers only multiplied by the week. He'd even had one take a crap on his head the one time, warm goo hitting his scalp and soiling his clean hair.

He wished the fucking things would just go away so he could enjoy one nice day in peace.

_"Come back!"_ Cole yelled. The little boy was angry, and Hank could sense one of his tantrums coming on. Cole's meltdowns were legendary, and Hank knew if he didn't get Cole to the car soon, he'd make a scene. The other parents would look at Hank like he was a Bad Parent. He wasn't in the mood for public humiliation. Bad enough that it had cost him his marriage.

Cole reached out and grabbed the startled bird in both hands. _"Got it!"_ He shook the bird like it was a toy and he expected a prize to pop out of it.

_"Let go!"_ Hank barked. He rushed to Cole's side and pried his little hands open, but the bird flopped, still and lifeless. Hank didn't feel a heartbeat, and realized Cole had terrified the poor thing to death. Its black beady eye regarded Hank with disdain, and he felt as if a great curse had come down upon him.

Stupidity. Curses didn't exist. He left that kind of superstitious crap to junior officers at crime scenes. The ambiance of an old abandoned house or the noise of a raccoon stuck in some attic at a wrongful death scene were not evidence of anything but people who couldn't concentrate on their jobs. Mere fantasies. He was above that. He was a goddamn police Lieutenant, for fuck's sake. He was not afraid of a few fucking _birds_.

Hank shivered. It was getting cold all of a sudden. The unpredictable October air had turned chilly, signaling the coming of early snow. The corpse of the pigeon was cooling in his hands, and he didn't know what to do with it. He couldn't hardly bury it in the park. People were starting to look at them. Cole was crying, and Hank knew it would turn to screaming any second.

He discreetly slipped the pigeon's body into a trashcan. It wasn't dignified, but it was a bird, for God's sake. He could sit Cole down once they got home and explain what he'd done wrong, but for now, they needed to leave. He had to take Cole back to his mom tonight, and he didn't want him to show up in an upset state. That would inevitably lead to an argument with Cole's mom, and trigger the crippling sense of guilt that insinuated he was a bad father after all. Cole always seemed to get upset when he was with Hank. His mother's home was a bastion of stability, while Hank worked odd hours, often canceled visitation at the last minute, and struggled to cope with the boy's persistent boredom. Hank couldn't engage his interests twenty-four-seven. He was too old for the boy's boundless energy and overbearing enthusiasm.

But he loved him. Of course he loved Cole. In many ways, his little boy was all he had.

Hank closed his hand around something, trying to draw himself back into the present time. If he could only ground himself, he could stay with Connor in the loft, instead of being yanked back into the worst day of his life bar none. He realized he'd closed his hand around a box of birdseed and pulled it back abruptly, his lip curling up in disgust.

"Birdseed… I can't believe it. This nutjob was actually feeding these fuckers…" He glanced around him. Connor was nose deep into some old book, muttering about encryption and other computer bullshit Hank couldn't make heads nor tails of.

One of the pigeons landed on his arm, and pecked at his hand, drawing blood. He freaked out, flailing madly, sending it fluttering. Blood trickled out from the cut and down his wrist.

_Blood. Like that night. So much blood._

_"I wanna go_ home _!"_ Cole screamed. _"I wanna go home_ right now _!"_

The talk hadn't gone so well. Hank had sat Cole down on the couch and tried to explain why treating animals roughly could have devastating consequences, but Cole wasn't listening. He didn't seem to care that he'd just killed a bird. He only wanted to watch television. Hank had lost his temper. Cole had screamed so loud that the entire street had to have heard. Child Protection Services would be calling again this week, no doubt. Cole might even ask if he could stop going to Dad's house.

_"Fine. I'll call your mom and take you home early."_ There was no use fighting about it for the sake of three hours. It was dark already, and Hank was tired. He'd spent the best part of last night working a scene. He'd been grateful the sitter could come at short notice, but she couldn't stay long enough for him to get some sleep afterwards. He'd been up for twenty-four hours straight, and he wasn't fit to deal with Cole right now. _"Get your things and meet me at the car."_ He called Cole's mom and explained the situation. She seemed happy to be getting him back early, and Hank realized what she already knew: he was better off with her. He ended the call with a pit in his stomach as he followed Cole out to the car. He was failing as a father, and he didn't know what to do about it.

It was snowing heavily. As soon as darkness had set in, temperatures had plummeted below freezing. Hank started the vehicle. Cole was uncharacteristically quiet in the back seat, sniffling every now and then. One glance in the rearview mirror showed he was crying. Hank clutched the steering wheel tightly. Perhaps he should give up visitation rights. The thought of losing his little boy forever left a dull ache in his chest.

_Thud._ Hank panicked as something large hit the windshield. He swerved, trying to see past the pair of feathery wings now plastered to the glass. A truck was on the other side of the road, and it, too, seemed to swerve. The two vehicles veered towards one another, Hank cursing as he put all his strength into turning the wheel. His tires skidded on ice, and he braced himself for impact.

It was over in an instant, but that moment in time seemed to last three thousand years. The truck clipped his side at speed. His two side wheels lost contact with the road and his car rolled over, landing on its roof. At some point Hank was thrown from his seat and pitched through the windshield, and he realized he hadn't bothered to fasten his seatbelt.

That was the last thing he recalled until he opened his eyes for a moment. He lay in the snow. It was stained red with blood. Red and blue flashing lights colored the air, and he was vaguely aware of a car wreck about fifty feet away, the kind he often shook his head at in his line of work—the type of accident that rarely yielded survivors. There was a body next to him, and for a moment he thought it might be Cole's, until he realized it was far too small. He reached for it, and closed his hands around the dead bird—splayed outwards, perpetually trapped in flight. Its beady eye seemed to be judging him.

"Get them off me!" Hank screamed. He was jerked back to the loft, where the birds were pecking at him, attacking him. They were tearing at his jacket, biting at his flesh, intent on murder. Blood trickled from multiple cuts, soaking into his shirt. He waved his arms, desperation making him strong but unwieldy as he tripped over a bird cage left in the middle of the floor. The birds descended upon him and all he could do was scream and cover his face so they couldn't peck out his eyes. "Connor, help me! CONNOR!" Strong arms closed around him, shielding him from the worst of the birds' attacks. Connor herded him outside, using his body to keep the creatures at bay. He felt himself pressed against a wall, and he leaned on it for support, sure he wouldn't be able to hold himself up under his own weight.

"Hank," Connor whispered, in that soft, pleasing voice of his. Hank was pretty sure he'd never heard Connor say his name, and there was something soothing about it that brought him a sense of calm. Connor's hands closed around Hank's shoulders, easing him back into the real world. They weren't in the loft any more, but outside in the hallway. Hank was breathing heavily, gasping for oxygen. Hyperventilating. "You appear to be suffering a traumatic flashback, coupled with hallucinations. There were no birds attacking you, Lieutenant. The pigeons in the loft were benign, and largely ignored our presence." Connor removed his hands, and Hank felt bereft of his touch at once. He turned his face away, embarrassed that Connor had seen this side of him. Nobody knew about the birds, save for him and his therapist, and his therapist had dismissed his fear as a superstitious delusion concocted by Hank's subconscious to avoid responsibility for the accident.

"Fuck…" Hank was aware he was trembling. Connor took his shaking hand in both of his, rubbing circles into his palm. He didn't ask questions, and Hank wondered if he'd been programmed to deal with situations like this. He eventually pulled his hand away, recovering enough to close the window into his vulnerability. He hadn't wanted to share that with anyone. Including Connor. Especially him.

Hank shook his head. "The suspect…"

"The suspect appears to have escaped prior to our arrival, Lieutenant," Connor said. 

"Doesn't matter, it won't get far…" Hank stood up, brushing broken feathers off his jacket. "Hey, Connor…" He was going to thank Connor, but he waved his hand instead as he walked off. He couldn't come up with words that weren't sentimental, and the last thing he wanted to do was reveal any more of himself to CyberLife's finest. Connor's eyes seemed to follow him with interest, before the android rushed to catch up with him.

"Lieutenant?" Those deep brown eyes bored into him, ever curious. Hank realized he could spill his entire life story and Connor wouldn't judge him. There was a sense of safety in that he hadn't felt with anyone in a long time.

"Nothing…" Hank sighed. Connor wasn't just a pretty face, he had to admit. He was starting to like him.

"I'm here if you need me," Connor said. The suggestion hung in the air, meaning everything and nothing all at once. Hank had to remind himself that Connor was an android. He was programmed to say things like that, but it was comforting all the same to know Connor had his back. Even against the phantasms of his mind. Most people couldn't say the same, and fled at the first sign of mental instability.

Perhaps there was something to be said for having an android partner after all.


End file.
